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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24925951">Little Nora Moments</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleDayDreamer/pseuds/TheLittleDayDreamer'>TheLittleDayDreamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1920s, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Scottish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:42:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24925951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleDayDreamer/pseuds/TheLittleDayDreamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Little stories that follow our Nora throughout the years.</p><p>(Some of these aren't canon anymore but hopefully still fun to read.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael Gray/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hesitance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   Polly sighed watching her niece coo over the new-born bundled in her arms, swaying him gently whilst being surrounded by their large, bumbling family desperate to get a quick glance at George. Every few minutes she’d hear a slight gurgle, croak or cry which would then be followed by a deep growing warmth in her chest or a panicked Shelby handing the baby over to someone else.</p><p>   Michael adored his son, and Polly could only wish the best for him, she wanted her grandson to have the life Michael never could. To be loved under a roof, to be fed, well rested and safe from harm. She’d had distant dreams of a little blond boy running across the cobbles playing <em>kick the can</em> with the likes of Katie Shelby calling out instructions, but he was more entertained by reading the little brown book.</p><p>   Still, despite the large group standing around George there was one strangely absent.</p><p>   A wail echoed throughout the house, against the warmth of atmosphere in the opposite room. “Nora, honey?”</p><p>   The redhead’s curled up on the couch, not daring to turn around as her son’s voice ringing right through her conscious, he wanted her; she didn’t deserved him. He was so delicate, soft and breakable. Nora didn’t want to hurt him. She couldn’t even look at George without a looming feeling of nausea.</p><p>   She’d rather stare at a blank fucking canvas than cuddle her own son.</p><p>   “-Nora will come around, the first one’s always scary.” Esme reassures Michael, but there’s just something that’s not sitting right with him about Nora’s behaviour. George hadn’t even been in her arms yet, the doctor had to give him to Mum instead when she’d begged not to have him.</p><p>   The Scottish teen knew this path and was aware of her roots dealing with her own mother. The mother that lives within her, the woman that wouldn’t dare to sing her a lullaby, read her a story to sleep or even treat her many cuts after play-fighting with Edie and Alec. </p><p>   Nora knew that wasn’t right, but it was <em>all she knew.</em></p><p>Selina looked on in disgust at her children, whilst giggling off to her friends; begrudgingly bathed them, scowled and skelped when they so much as thought about stepping out of place. And yet, she was their protector. Took them from the dangers of Glasgow, jumped an attacker to protect her son from harm and left the only place she felt loved to give them a decent start in life.    </p><p>   Nora lost a mother, and George could too. She wasn’t right for kids, she loved her old job but kids of her own?</p><p>   Overhearing the sheer joy between walls was agonising, she wanted to feel like that; to show off her boy, her blood. The small human she created.</p><p>   “Mum,” Michael nodded to the ajar, “he’s not going to stop.”</p><p>   Polly thought for a moment, she’d had many conversations with her daughter in-law all with varying degrees of enthusiasm throughout the pregnancy, but there always seemed to be a nagging feeling like, Nora was never truly there, never invested.</p><p>   “Give,” she said, carefully lifting the crying new-born out of Esme’s grasp, “it’s time for mummy to have her son.”</p><p>   Her heels could be heard getting closer and closer as the teen’s heart began to race, seeing Polly enter the room was like a nail in the coffin.</p><p>   But, there he was cradled in this grandmother’s arms waiting to be rescued by the women who was supposed to love him, <em>unconditionally.</em></p><p>   “I-l can’t Pol, just give me one more day, please.” She stammered.</p><p>   Ignoring the request Polly continues to hold out the small figure, taking a hand from the curled-up girl and guiding George into his arms safely stabilising before letting the pair be.</p><p>   “I understand that it’s hard love,” she pauses, “but don’t make it harder for him. What he needs is you, it’ll always be you.”</p><p>   George begins to settle, calming his blaring cries. </p><p>   “H-He stopped,” Nora choked.</p><p>   “Everybody needs their mother Nora, I thought you’d know that better than anyone.”</p><p>   Nora shrugged, though was more concerned with the wee-yin in her arms, bright emerald eyes staring up at her.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>“Your past will haunt, and you can’t chase the ghosts away but, you can learn from them. Learn from <em>her</em>mistakes.”</b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. George Gray</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finally getting a moment alone with the baby.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>March 20th, 1923.   </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>   “He’s so wee,” she whispers, gently grazing her fingertips over the new-born’s soft pudgy skin.</p><p>   The room was silently still, engulfed by a comforting darkness with the only source of light being from an streetlamp, giving them an orange glow seeping in through their lacy curtain, resting against the small family where they lay exhausted after today’s antics with the Shelby family.</p><p>   Nora’s thoughts were hazy, messy and lazy. She couldn’t help but dream about everything and absolutely nothing whilst watching her little boy elevate every time so took a slight breath as he cuddles into the warmth of her fresh, silky powder pink nightgown, courtesy of his grandmother after his birth.</p><p>   It’s George’s first night in the new house bought specifically for him, but the teen couldn’t bare to let her son sleep in his own cot even if it allowed her to freely toss and turn, now that George was no longer living inside her belly. Staying at Polly’s made life that little bit easier with a four-week-old but Michael needed the space now that’s he’d started working for Tommy, and Nora probably did too after many arguments with Finn about who should get to use the loo first.</p><p>   It meant they could have their boy to themselves without the interruption of a Shelby cooing, begging to hold him. And, Nora could pee whenever the fuck she wanted without having to justify it.</p><p>   Nora feels a small dip in the bed, and a sudden heat on her arm but quickly brushing it off, glancing back to her son.</p><p>   “Never heard him so quiet,” Michael sat up against the bed-frame mimicking his wife’s relaxed temperament, “Mum says he only wanted you.” He humorously scoffed to himself, “John said it’s because your tits.”</p><p>   The ginger smiles turning, despite not being able to make Michael out, past a silhouette. “Apple doesnae fall fae the tree then.”</p><p>   They share a laugh before Nora carefully attempts to shift closer into his side, snuggling the pair of them in with George still sound asleep.</p><p>   “You did good.”</p><p>   She hums, “Should ‘hink so, nearly pult Ethel’s arm aff.”</p><p>   “No, really.” He pauses, slipping his hand round Nora waist, “I know this isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you said you wanted to deliver <em>weans</em>.“</p><p>   She chuckles in agreement, though cringing at George beginning to stir and Michael’s brief imitation “Ah technically did deliver a wean, it jist happens tae be ma ain.” She runs a hand through the delicate strands of hair, “an ah still wouldnae hiv it any other way.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Soapbox</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The prospect of a daughter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> March 31st, 1925</p><p>   A rapid thumping echoed off the tiles in the opposite room as Michael is awoken from his light slumber, trying to grasp his surroundings by sitting up against the wooden headboard he become accustom to bumping his head on. There’s a slight breeze hitting against his bare chest, no longer protected under the warmth of the duvet. The window’s been lodged open with a bottle-cork allowing for a slight draft to slip in the gap as well as some droplets of water after last night’s downpour.</p><p>   Michael glances to the now empty half of the mattress, noting the absence of his wife.</p><p>   There’s a sudden flush ringing through the house.</p><p>  <em> Oh.</em></p><p>“Ah’m no daein this again.” Nora croaked, resting her head on the cool tiles attempting to bring down her temperature. He couldn’t see her, so Michael wasn’t sure if she was actual talking to him. “-it’s wan too many, ma boy wis enough.”</p><p>   He chuckles to himself, watching as the ginger begins gripping at the silk of her nightie, “It’s no funny Michael, it’s your fucking fault.”</p><p>   “You didn’t seem too opposed at the time.”</p><p>   “Hmm, opium’ll make ye dae some weird shite.”</p><p>   “-like consider <em>childbirth </em>for a second time?”</p><p>   She grumbles in content, sliding down to the marble flooring as her old spot had begun matching her own body heat.</p><p>   “George’s awfully quiet, waiting oan him tae start greetin’.”</p><p>   “Mum took him last night,” he said, reaching for the small cigarette tin before lighting a fag, “One look at us last and guessed he’d be better off with her.”</p><p>   “Don’t blame her, I wouldn’t let me keep the wee-yin. She ‘hinks ah’m a bad mammy. Cannae keep ‘im doon, cannae get ‘im tae feed an ah still cannae get ‘im tae walk.”</p><p>   “Nonie,” he pressed, “that’s not why she took him, neither of <em>us </em>could fucking walk after the Garrison. John couldn’t even make it down the road, slept in the shop and Esme's on the couch.”</p><p>   She sighed, clobbering to her feet now with the added weight of a growing belly. </p><p>   Nora takes a look at her husband stubbing out the snout. “Ada says that’s not good for the baby.”</p><p>   “Sod Ada,” he scoffed, “Mum did the same thing and I turned out fine.”</p><p>   He glances at the Scottish girl resting her head on the door frame weakly smiling back at him. She looked ghastly pale, tired and just worn – worse than what she’d been with George this far in, though he didn’t think it was anything to be concerned about.</p><p>   “C’mere, you’ll catch a fucking cold over there,” he motions for her to come to the bed, hesitantly, Nora does so.</p><p>   “Can’t catch a cold if ah ain’t even cold, can ah?” She whines, climbing under the duvet and resting her head on his chest, allowing for the breeze to graze her skin, it was better than another run to the loo. The heat made her sick and the cold made her shit, Nora couldn’t win. </p><p>   “Mum thinks it’ll be a girl.”</p><p>   “Hmmm…”</p><p>   “What about you?”</p><p>   “Not too fussed, boy might be easier.”</p><p>   “Why?”</p><p>   “You jist teach boys to <em>go</em>, and they <em>go</em> far.” She bit her lip before continuing, “ye teach<em> that</em> tae lassie in a world like this, yer setting her up fur failure. A failure that’s never her ain fucking fault, but she’s the one tae suffer.” Nora sat up, taking a smoke for herself, “ye teach a lassie tae listen, be diplomatic, smile and sometimes laugh a little; and <em>mebbe</em>, just mebbe… she willnae end up in a fucking canal.”</p><p>   “You seem to know a lot about this.”</p><p>   She shrugs, “It’s aw the same, jist look Esme, or Ada. The stolen youth’s aren’t fae that fucking war Michael. Grown men fought in that war; little girls learn the wicked ways of the world far too fucking early is ye ask me.”</p><p>   He stares blankly at her.</p><p>   “Wee-yins are pretty perceptive, especially city wan’s because there’s nae hiding yer business in a scheme.”</p><p>   “-then lets hope it’s not a girl,” he teases, “because Tommy dumped a pile of paperwork on my desk last night and, quite frankly I can’t be arsed listening to you parading on that bloody soapbox.”</p><p>   “She’ll be yer worst nightmare.” She sang, falling back on her own, cool side of the bed.</p><p>   “…if she’s anything like her mother.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Unrequited</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nora's made a point in showing how she feels about Gina, but after a harrowing morning, it's time to clear the air.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   “They’re very beautiful,” she politely sighs checking the steps for any dirt before sitting down next to the other woman who’s nursing a cigarette, rather disinterested. “Your little boy, he laughs like him, you can see it when his entire face just lights up. And, Rosie…”</p><p>   “-she’s got his fucking temper.”</p><p>   Gina purses her lips, unsure how to answer such a brash reply. She was slowly coming round to it back in England but here in Glasgow they seemed indulge in such vile language, which was before the American could even bother getting her head around the local dialect; having to rely on her husband’s knowledge gained from the ginger flicking some ash off to the side with a deep scowl.  </p><p>   They fall into awkward silence, Gina not knowing what to say though clawing to find solidarity and Nora, well, she really didn’t give a flying fuck. She had no plans to entertain Michael’s new missus, especially not when she’d be wasting her breath on someone that couldn’t even comprehend her.</p><p>   “W-what you did today, it was incredible. Jumping in like that, to save George.”</p><p>   Nora shrugs, “Any mammy wid dae the same. Ye’ve got tae protect the wee-yins. It aw, or nuthin.”</p><p>   “I'll keep that in mind.”</p><p>   The blonde had been rather foolishly oblivious to the situation, until this morning. She didn’t see the connection between Michael and Nora, the way he gazed at her like lost pup would. You could see the hurt and regret behind their eyes as they so desperately tried to avoid each other, to no avail.</p><p>   The trip to Canada? Thomas’ expanding his orphanages overseas and Michael, now in debt, was in charge. When, in reality it was a wild goose-chase to reunite the Gray children.</p><p>   Her husband had never been clear as to what the relationship was, Gina simply believed Michael pulling a gun on the Scottish fascist was the right thing to do: both in business with the McCloud family and as human being, rather than as a father.</p><p>   Until the stuttering words of a frail soaking six-year-old pierced through her chest as she watched the rather warm image before her from the comfort of the Bentley parked at the end of the bridge with Rosie asleep in the back. George was wrapped in his mother’s coat as Nora got handed her husband’s beige trench-coat as the Brummy lifted his son.</p><p>   Michael had a family, and it wasn’t the one he’d told her about.</p><p>   “Hen?”</p><p>   “Hmm.”</p><p>   “Look after him.”</p><p>   She looks to the girl in awe.</p><p>   “He’s got a hard shell, an mebbe you’ll be the wan tae crack it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Left Unsaid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Victory in Europe.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>May 8, 1945</p><p> </p><p>   “Do you see them Mummy?” Violet ponders, letting her eyes hastily search the busy platform scanning face to face as the soldiers tower over her small frame. Just watching the many surrounding families be reunited and make their way home. It made her heart soar, she couldn’t wait for her turn.</p><p>   The nine-year-old had never seen the station so busy, well, at least not since she’d seen her father get on the same one six years ago. She was awfully big now and wasn’t sure he’d recognise her, the pink petticoat she wore just didn’t fit anymore as much as she tried to squish into it. The very shiny Mary-Jane’s didn’t fit either but Nana managed to replace them in a much bigger size so, she was hoping he’d remember them.</p><p>   Nora gave a light squeeze on her daughter’s shoulders as she continues to trace against the list of names on the notice-board, praying there was no-one she recognised, though as the lines became hazy, as did her patience. She couldn’t bare to go on, but there was an agonising need to. She’d already found Isaiah Jesus; <em>Sicily, 1943.</em></p><p>   She had two on the line.</p><p>   “Mum…”</p><p>   “<em>Jist</em>, give me a minute hen.”</p><p>   Slipping from her mother’s grasp she heads to the other end of the board, she wasn’t quite sure what it was for but it appeared to be a register, like the one Mrs Cassidy had every lesson. Perhaps it was all the passengers? <em>Maybe Daddy was on it?</em></p><p>   She reaches up letting her longest finger graze against each word so she could keep track, there were lots of them, <em>the train didn’t look terribly big.</em></p><p>
  <em>   Bingo!</em>
</p><p>   “Mummy look!”</p><p>   Nora desperately turns to her eldest daughter, holding Jack’s hand as he ties his lace. </p><p>   “Rosie, gonnae take her. Ah cannae bloody concentrate.” </p><p>   “No. Look, I <em>found</em> Daddy!”</p><p>   The two women hesitantly turn to see the blond with a gummy-grin, tapping against a singular line towards the bottom of the sheet. “Michael Gray. 1944, Belgium? See? <em>Does that mean Daddy’s still there?”</em></p><p>   The ginger felt her stomach sink, as she begins pacing to where she was standing; she had to see it with her own eyes.</p><p>
  <em>   Killed in Action.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>   Fuck-fucking. Fuck.</em>
</p><p>   “M-mum, what now?” Shakily, Rosie says unsure if she even wanted an answer. </p><p>   There was ringing, a striking sting echoing through every rational line of defence, as the excuses wash away when the words became ingrained, etching its way into Nora’s lungs.</p><p>   1944. <em>He was so fucking close! </em></p><p>   Nora had felt insinuating this very outcome in her mind before the day would come could make her at ease, but she just wasn’t ready. Nobody ever was.</p><p>   She wasn’t ready to lose the man she’d neglected telling, <em>she loved him.</em></p><p>   As everyone else begins to shuffle around her, the soft the initially soft ringing in her ears began to blare, until she overheard a faint squeal of joy, from Violet.</p><p>
  <b>“Georgie!”</b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Love, Rosie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rosalin Gray's all grown up.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>July 12, 1947.</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>   “Look at me Rosalin.” Nora sighed, cupping her daughter’s rosy cheeks attempting to do little damage to the freshly applied cosmetics as she lovingly stared into her deep blue eyes, “Ach ma wee lassie’s a princess. Aw grown up, aff tae start her new life withoot her mammy.”</p><p>   “Mum…”</p><p>   “Don’t ye dare <em>‘mum’</em> me. If ye want tae whinge then I’ll gie ye sumthin’ tae whinge aboot.” She lightly scolded, adjusting the soft, sheer fabric resting on Rosie’s head. “Ah didnae get tae enjoy mine, so you fuckin’ better.”</p><p>   “-never told me that.” She muttered.</p><p>   Nora hums, “Ye wir a wee lassie, an I wisnae gonnae tell ye that ah hid a face like a <em>well skelped erse</em> the day ah married yer daddy. Should ah seen the fuckin’ nick ’o me; screamin ‘n’ bawin’ at yer nana, bolking at everything that smelt jist a bit funny. Ah jist wanted oot yer auntie Ada’s dress an up the road.” she pauses for a moment musing to herself, “ah wis a right wee shite when ah wis your age.”</p><p>   Rosie snorted, “Oh, I can imagine.”</p><p>   “Fuckin’ watch it, madame.”</p><p>   Rosie watches as her mother applies the notable citrus scent.</p><p>   “You and dad never spoke much about back then. Why?”</p><p>   “Couldnae staun the sight of each-other hen.”</p><p>   Nora purses her lips, she’d never really thought about life before coming back to England, it was such a difficult time for their little unit that dwelling on it felt like opening an old wound. The older woman knew Rosie wouldn’t remember much, and she was thankful that George wasn’t too interested in the past but her daughter was a curious soul.</p><p>   “What changed?”</p><p>   “When we lost you, and George.” Nora sees Rosie’s eyes furrow, so continues, “Glesga wis hard hen, an a lot of folk didnae like that ah wis back so ye wir taken tae the church. Ah tried, an tried tae get ye back but it jist didnae happen. So, when yer da came back tae help <em>-</em> <em>christ, ah’d never seen him so angry</em> <em>-</em> it felt like a breath of fresh air, until his new missus trotted in behind him.”</p><p>   “Dad got married again?”</p><p>   “Naw. Well aye.” </p><p>   “Do I even want to know?”</p><p>   “Ye know how it ends.”</p><p>   Nodding in agreement, Rosie begins awkwardly tinkering with the small silver bracelet around her wrist.</p><p>   “I wish he was here, y’know.”</p><p>   “Ah dae tae hen, an ah know it hurts but he is here, lookin’ doon on you his wee lassie aw dolled-up.”</p><p>   She smiles, though turns to the door as she hears it click open and a body enters.</p><p>   “Aw’right smelly?” George greets.</p><p>   “Piss off.”</p><p>   Nora rolls her eyes, ready to exit the room. “Whit the fuck did ah teach the pair ‘o you?”</p><p>   “Never to turn on the big light, don’t kick a ball off a lavvy-hut, how to light a-” </p><p>   “Right, wrap it smart-arse.” She smirks her twenty-one-year-old son, before shutting the door.</p><p>   The siblings share a look, interlocking their arms</p><p>   “If I fall you’re coming down with me.”</p><p>   “Dad wouldn’t let you, neither will I.”</p><p>   “Yeah, but dad also wouldn’t nick my food when I was wee.”</p><p>   “You weren’t eating it!”</p><p>   “-because you got to it before I could!”</p><p>   “Not fast, your last.”</p><p>   “Oh, I’ll fucking show you fast.” She teased pulling him out the room.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>God help that poor fuckin’ bloke.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Call the Midwife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nora's former co-workers learn the truth.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>December 2, 1922</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>   “Christ, that girl’s asking for a bloody lamping.” Polly scoffs, entering the dimly lit spare-room not talking to anyone in particular, just fed up with her niece’s childish antics. Running around the living-room showing off her bare-backside and winding up her brothers as they rip apart her country home. “John better have a fucking word with her, nasty habit starking.”</p><p>   The ginger girl lets out a gurgling laugh, hidden behind her large belly, watching her new mother-in-law tinkering around the dresser with a cloth whilst she’s comfortably slouched on the plush bed, her breakfast tray pushed off to the side, as she chews on some toast. “It’s jist wean bein’ weans.”</p><p>   She grumbles in response, abruptly pulling the curtains open in a somewhat sweet-revenge against Nora laissez-faire attitude talking back. It allows the light to brighten the dark space and to blind the eyes of the yet unadjusted.</p><p>   “Fucksake, Pol!” She squeals, shielding her eyes, ignoring the burning sensation.</p><p>   “<em>Oi! </em>Watch it, or it’ll be the soapbar.” Polly warns.</p><p>   “That you tryin’ tae poison yer gran-wean, eh?”</p><p>   There’s a tension-filled pause, as the two refrain as uttering may lead to a casualty. </p><p>   The elder woman rolls her eyes, storming over to the other side of the bed, pulling back the duvet from her daughter-in-law though Nora persists against it, snatching it back with a growl.</p><p>   “Right, lady-muck,” she scowls. Her strong grip remains on the fabric, “if you don’t get up off your arse this very second, I’ll thump you. Baby or not.”</p><p>   “I’ll scream bloody murder.”</p><p>   “Nobody would care.” </p><p>   “They’d come fuckin’ runnin’, every single wan of them. Any excuse to lock you looney-lot up.” Nora snears, as if she really were faced with death, staring down the barrel of a gun. Which in this case, wasn’t far off.</p><p>   Polly slaps her. </p><p>   Hard enough to hurt, light enough that nobody would notice. Then, before giving her time to react she clutches the girl’s chin, yanking it back to look at her once again. “I don’t know what the fuck my Michael saw in you.”</p><p>   She narrows her eyes, with heavy, anger-filled breaths and not a single flinch. “Same ‘hing every bloke does. An’ ah’m sure you’d know a bit aboot that, <em>Mum.”</em></p><p>   “Listen you cheeky-”</p><p>   “Esme’s telt me aw aboot yer wee twlit schemes. Ah willnae judge but,” Nora removes Polly hold on her, “if ye ever lay a fuckin’ finger oan me, again. I’ll tell ‘em.”</p><p>
  <em>   “Aunt Pol, that’s the baby-ladies here!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-</em>
</p><p>   “Well isn’t this a bloody sight for sore eyes.”</p><p>   “Chess, Ethel.” Nora greets, still in the same position she initially was, though only because Polly had left the room out of frustration, “-fancy seeing you here.”</p><p>   “Y-you’re pregnant?”</p><p>   “Aye, got the belly tae show fur it.” She smiles at her former co-workers playfully pointing at the elephant in the room.</p><p>   “So, you didn’t go back to Glasgow.” Francesca begins opening her home-visit kit on the dresser. “You decided to get yourself up the duff.”</p><p>   Nora grumbles in response.</p><p>   Francesca was never the kindest woman; had no children of her own, rather stocky and would send most men running for the hills. Compassion never seemed to be on the table, particularly when Shelby’s were involved, she’d delivered all of John’s children to Martha.</p><p>   Ethel warmly smiles, carefully sitting down on the bed and placing a hand onto her friend’s swollen stomach. “Why didn’t you come to us sooner?”</p><p>   “Didnae need tae. Ah know the jist ay ‘hings, but ah canny see ma nooney now.”</p><p>   “How far gone are you?”</p><p>   She shrugs, “Six, mebbe seven?”</p><p>   “Which one is it?” Chess questions.</p><p>   “Seven, hopefully.”</p><p>   The eldest woman rolls her eyes, “Which Shelby knocked-you-up? ‘Cause I bloody swear if that John-”</p><p>   “Christ, it’s no John. Gee the poor bloke a break.”</p><p>   “It’s not the young one is it?” Ethel chimes in.</p><p>   “Ach, Finn’s a wee wean.”</p><p>   “Better not be who I think it is.”</p><p>   ”It’s not.” Nora abruptly cuts her off.</p><p>   “Because-”</p><p>   “I said it’s not him, Christ-sake.”</p><p>   “Who is it then?”</p><p>   “You don’t know him.”</p><p>   “We don’t?” Francesca said, though it sounded like she already knew the answer.</p><p>   “He’s not one of them.”</p><p>   “Oh, he’s not, is he? Then why are we here? Mrs Gray?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Apples</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Guess the apple doesn't far from the tree.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> “Where’s the kids?”</p><p>   Nora feels a striking burn in her heart, she’d dealt with the grievances a while ago and as angry as she was at him, telling Michael was one of the worst feelings in the world because as much as she hated to admit it, they <em>were</em> his, regardless of how little he’d truly known them.</p><p>   She scoffed, humorously though unsure if it would soften the blow. “Fuck knows.”</p><p>   “Nora.”</p><p>   “What?”</p><p>   “Why don’t you know where they are? Rosie’s only five for Christ-sake.”</p><p>   The redhead sits at the table, looking down at the half empty tumbler of whisky, it was vile but right now she’d drink just about anything.</p><p>   “Did, did Polly ever tell you, why?” she sighed, “Why they took you and Anna from her?”</p><p>   “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”</p><p>   “Answer the question.”</p><p>   “Alright. One of the neighbours made up a fucking story about her. What’s your point?”</p><p>   “My point, Michael is that the church never took you two <em>because</em> of the neighbour’s shite.” Her eyes bore into him, “they took you because they were given the perfect bait, to cover their actual motive.”</p><p>   “Which was?”</p><p>   He was starting to see the conclusion she was drawing, and it wasn’t all daffodils and roses.</p><p>   “A single mammy wae two weans.” Nora swallowed, “people beat their kids all the fuckin’ time, an naebody gees a shit. Even under the eyes of god; it is what he envisioned as a <em>family</em>, and if you don’t have that…”</p><p>   Nora laughed and downed the remainder of the alcohol. “-yer weans are better aff wae out a sinner, in’t they? Because clearly the apple disnae fall far fae the tree.”</p><p>   Michael sits down in the seat next to her as his head falls. “Neighbours?”</p><p>   “Landlord. He got suspicious when he found out Alec, was my brother; it’s not like we ever told him he wisnae.”</p><p>   She sees his jaw clench, he felt guilty, good. “Life goes on right? Pol did it. I’ll find someone and you can go back tae yer wee pretty American missus; the kids’ll grow up away fae aw the Blinder’s and<em> we</em> just pretend the last eight years never even happened.”</p><p>   Michael doesn’t move, so she’d jabs again, “I mean were both <em>legally</em> dead, aren’t we?”</p><p>   “Does this, just not bother you? The fucking church has our kids!”</p><p>   “Bother me?” she laughs, “Michael I’ve lived with <em>this</em> for a year now. I had to go about my days, alone, knowing that I’d just had to watch both ma weans being physically dragged out the flat, screaming an bawling because <em>you</em> were off fucking another woman!”</p><p>   “Tommy told me you were dead.”</p><p>   “-and you believed him!? This is same man who <em>blackmailed</em> his way into getting an OBE when you were moments from fucking death, real death. For once in your life, don’t listen to him!”</p><p>   Nora was determined to get her children back after watching them being dragged from their cramped tenement flat. Not only because she legitimately birthed them, therefore should be entitled to them, regardless of her husband’s stupidity but because this was the whole fucking reason she married Michael in the first place. Polly had told her multiple times, well, perhaps warned her what had happened when her man died, and she was not prepared to see her son’s kids suffer the same fate.</p><p>
  <em>   “If you don’t learn from the past you are simply destined to repeat it.”</em>
</p><p>   If only that weren’t the truth. The problem this time? The father of her children had cheated death, literally.</p><p>   Thomas Shelby was a man of many talents but forgery was not one of them. Nora had seen plenty of both fake and real death certificates in her lifetime; insurance purposes and whatnot, people taking alen of the elderly when looking to get their grubby hands on a pension pay-out. Michael Gray was not fucking dead, and she’d be damned if she let George and Rosie pay the price.</p><p>   “Not like you reached out either, surely you must’ve believed him.”</p><p>   “Naw, I didn’t ah just didn’t know how tae contact ye, nor could ah even afford a phone.”</p><p>   “So, what now?”</p><p>   “Like I said, the last eight years, never happened.”</p><p>   “-and the kids? You’re just going to leave them, with the church?”</p><p>   “You want them? <em>You</em> get them. ‘cause lord knows I tried, nearly ragdolled wan ae the nuns when ah found out she’d twisted George’s wrist on the way to the parish.”</p><p>   “Fine, I’ll go. Then we talk, for real.”</p><p>   “Michael, I can’t guarantee the kids’ll be there, they were on top priority because they knew who you were.”</p><p>   “How?”</p><p>   “Well, not only did you murder a priest but an entire family being sentenced to hang doesn’t exactly go unnoticed in the national papers. There’s a reason I never told my family about you lot.”</p><p>   “Guess they’ll know to give us the kids back then.”</p><p>   “Ah hope yer jokin’.”</p><hr/><p>   “I still don’t understand, <em>how</em>… how could you be so stupid?”</p><p>   Nora scoffed, storming up to her husband by the car - or ex, she wasn’t entirely sure at this point in time nor did she care - who nursed the latter end of a cigarette he’d nicked. “Jesus sufferin' fuck! Ah didnae gee them away, did ah?”</p><p>   She shoved her hands back into her pockets, trying to ignore the bitter morning air.</p><p>   Michael scowled at the redhead for a moment, before taking in the slight changes in the girl he once knew from their days in Birmingham: the sun-kissed freckles on her cheeks that his fingers once traced in the late hours of the morning when George and Rosie were still in their cots, had faded; her hair darkened; likely due to the rather gloomy weather Rolodex of rain and fog; she’d also gotten physically slimmer, though it appeared to be due to malnutrition and there seemed to be a darkness in her eyes, something Michael couldn’t help but relate to.</p><p>   Though, Nora’s snarky attitude he’d once fallen for was still perfectly intact, if be it a little less hyperbolic.</p><p>   “Do you even know where they are?”</p><p>   Nora bit her lip, she did, well kind of.</p><p>   “Rosie’s in Lanark; some Catholic orphanage… but I couldnae find anything on George.”</p><p>   “How’d you find out? Mum says they wouldn’t tell her anything when she went to find us.”</p><p>   “Wan ay the nuns, she grew-up wae ma sister when she was looking at adoption papers, did us a favour under the eyes of the big-man.”</p><p>   Michael mumbled something when chucking the snout.</p><p>   He couldn’t lie the parallels from his past were making him nervous, envisioning his own kids being put through the same horrors, it killed him. Not knowing his son’s location was gut-clenching enough but knowing where his daughter is? He wanted to claw his own eyes out.</p><p>   He’d seen, he’d experienced and he’d murder anyone that put a hand on Rosie. Though Michael didn’t have a large amount of experience with the nuns, they primarily gravitated towards the older girls in the orphanage he’ll never forget the echoing thump, thump, thump of the crucifix. It bore into his skull, etched into his skin.</p><p>   Once a night, every night. On the hour. Ten o’clock.</p><p>   “Michael,” she sighed cupping his cheeks, the gesture felt foreign after so many years but the delicacy and warmth still remained. “We’ll find them.”</p><p>   “How far out is Rosie?”</p><p>   “-aboot twenty minutes up the road,” Nora watched him ponder for a moment, noticing a slight jaw clench, “how?”</p><p>   “I think we should bring Tommy.”</p><p>   “No, no!”</p><p>   He groans his grip tightening on the car door out of frustration. “Why? He could help us.”</p><p>   “Michael, this is his fucking fault. You were no deid. They took the weans under the assumption that ye wir.”</p><p>   “Tommy helped me with finding mum.”</p><p>   “-because ye were an adult, no five, surrounded by a million nuns.”</p><p>   He stared blankly at her.</p><p>   “Two English blokes dressed fur a funeral is gonnae raise a few eyebroos. No tae mention the fact you’ve killed a holy-man. We’re treading on thin-ice here.”</p><p>   Her last statement strikes a chord in him. He knew as well as anybody that the church start pulling at strings to keep kids under their roofs, if he stepped foot in there; they’d never see Rosie again, and Michael couldn’t bare the thought. But, Nora’s got to prove the kids are coming back to a family.</p><p>   Even if they weren’t.</p><p>   “We’re picking him up, end of.”</p><p>   “Aye, well if he fucks this up, ah’m shoving the barrel doon his throat. Then ye’ll need the fill oot a real certificate.”</p><hr/><p>   “Rosalin, Gray.” She scowls, “not fucking Taylor, not McCloud. Gray.”</p><p>   Nora’s finger-tips impatiently dance across the wooden desk, her eyes boring into the middle-aged sister flipping through each file in the small cabinet below, each folder bigger than the last. Despite the irritation, the gesture was on purpose she wanted her presence to be known, she wanted her wedding ring to be seen.</p><p>   Sister MacDonald was quite taken aback by the brash nature of her entrance: swinging open the double doors of the orphanage, her chunky maroon pumps echoing off the marble, the large rather stylish coat soaking-wet from the typical weather - some water dripped off when she angrily slammed her hands onto the front desk - demanding the return of her daughter.</p><p>   Though, she was not alone.</p><p>   A well dressed man, pinstripes, glasses wearing a similar jacket. Too young to be her father, too old to be the child’s father. Nor could they be siblings as their accents couldn’t be further from each-other.</p><p>   “Nice establishment you’ve got here,” Tommy observed, ignoring the side-glare from Nora. “Many kids you got running about?”</p><p>   “300.”</p><p>   “Aye, an wan’s ma lassie.” She said through gritted teeth.</p><p>   “There’s not a lot of space is there, ever think of expansion?”</p><p>   “Tommy.”</p><p>   The sister stood up from the desk, slamming the file on it, before showing a sickly sweet grin, that felt more like a threat that a welcoming gesture.</p><p>   “It appears the two of you, have entirely different goals here.”</p><p>   “No.”</p><p>   “Yes.”</p><p>   Nora fought back the urge to stomp on his foot. She was going to murder Michael for this.</p><p>   “Thomas Shelby, OBE and current labour MP, I was looking to expand into the appeal of the North, bigger orphanages? Is that something members of the church would be interested in, as a Catholic man myself-“</p><p>   “Shite.” She scoffed.</p><p>   Thomas scowled at her, she returned it.</p><p>   “Wanty you wrap it OBE patter,” Nora turned her attention back to Sister MacDonald, “an wanty you giee me, ma lassie. Cause ma, man’s no actually deid.”</p><p>   “-and where might he be?”</p><p>   “Somedee’s goat tae park the motor.”</p><p>   The woman took a quick glance back at Thomas before flipping open Rosie’s file.</p><p>   “Mrs Gray, it says here that you’d purposely been lying about your relationship with Mr McCloud-“</p><p>   “Naw, that blummin’ bastardin landlord didnae bother asking anything, I said nothin’. Ah paid ma rent every month and kept a roof over ma weans heid’s whilst their da wis oan the other side ae the water an that’s aw that matters.”</p><p>   She hummed, though in contempt.</p><p>   “-about that…”</p><p>   “Aboot whit?”</p><p>   “We’ve got a copy of the death certificate.”</p><p>   Nora felt a sharp pain in her lungs, as her throat ran dry. “What?”</p><p>   “Your husband’s death certificate, we have a copy.”</p><p>   “H-how?”</p><p>   “It was sent to us, September 4th 1926.”</p><p>   Nora turned to Thomas, who refused to look down. “Ye were so fucking sure,” she darkly chuckles, “ye sent a death certificate to them.”</p><p>   “I had to make it believable.”</p><p>   “Hmm, well maybe start with the certificate itself.” Nora’s rage was bubbling, clenching her sweaty palm, and taking slow, deep breaths. One wrong move and they were out. “I lost my fucking weans because of you!”</p><p>   “Collateral damage.”</p><p>   “<em>Collateral damage! </em>I’m sorry, does this whole situationnot seem awfully familiar?! How could you put Michael through this, again?” She whispered, her voice becoming hoarse.</p><p>   It was true, she didn’t even want to know what was racking through his thoughts; picking at his brain, knowing where Rosie was. It’s why he’s not here, refused to leave the car.</p><p>   “You knew Rosie’d be here.”</p><p>   He pursed his lips.</p><p>   “C’mon, tell me! If the Tommy Shelby is so great, then where is fuck is ma son, ma seven-year-old.”</p><p>   There was a visible swallow. “Canada. Two months ago, <em>they</em> sent him,” he nodded towards the nun.</p><p>   “I wis right tae leave you lot.” Nora’s nostrils flared, but instead of doing what was intended, she rounded past the desk and began shouting at the top of her lungs. She was on the war-path,</p><hr/><p>
  <em>   “Rosalin Elizabeth Gray!”</em>
</p><p>   Each nun she passed in the halls had their eyes glued, each with varying degrees of disgust and confusion. She repeated the name. Over and over, and over. Throughout the cramped, oak halls that surprising smelt worse than anything up the tenement: urine, sick and just general dampness.</p><p>   She stopped between two doors, Nora didn’t have much patience right now but even if it took her all night she’d rip this orphanage apart.</p><p>   There was a tugging on her thumb, she looked down.</p><p>   It was a little brunette boy dressed in his pyjamas, around three. He was clinging to his teddy and with the hand that one felt hers, he began sucking his thumb. It was like watching little George all over again. Her heart sank.</p><p>   He walked into the room on the right. Nora followed, stopping in front of the bed at the back, he used his hand with the bear to point under it.</p><p>   Nora furrowed her brows when slight sniffles could be heard.</p><p>   “Rosalin Gray.”</p><p>   “No! I don’t want to eat it! I’ll sleep it in if I have to!”</p><p>   “What?” Nora breathed, pulling back the white duvet, the mattress now covered in… sick? Nora paced around to the other side of the bed, so she wasn’t staring at her daughter’s grubby feet, she bent down taking a deep breath.</p><p>   “Hi Ro.”</p><p>   “Mummy?”</p><p>   Nora smiled and nodded, taking her hand to pull her forward.</p><p>   Once she’s up the redhead cups her chubby cheeks and peppers quick kisses across her face, causing her to giggle. “There’s ma wee sunshine. Cause you Madame are coming home.”</p><p>   “What about George?”</p><p>   She sighs, brushing a greasy strand of hair out of her face. “Georgie’s going to be away for a while, but right now all that matters is getting you home.”</p><p>   Just as she was about to get back on her feet, she felt an arm graze her, seeing the little boy begin to cling to Rosie.</p><p>   “Is this a friend?”</p><p>   “Yep, this Ed. I’m a <em>big</em> sister now, so I protect him from the other kids and the mean nuns with the freezing water.”</p><p>
  <em>   Oh, Rosie… </em>
</p><p>   Nora ruffled his hair, as a wash of guilt ran over her.</p><p>
  <em>   No, no, no. </em>
</p><p>   She couldn’t but she had a pretty good idea who could.</p><p>   “-and how would Ed, like to come with us?”</p><p>   Rosie beamed trying to lift the toddler, before Nora quickly took hold of him, balancing him on her hip then holding out her hand for her daughter.</p><p>   “Oh Ro?”</p><p>   “Uh-huh?”</p><p>   “Mummy might another surprise in the car.”</p><p>   “Is it a dog?!”</p><p>   The reached the top of the stairs, ascending though Nora doesn’t dare to look at Thomas; the same can’t be said for Rosie who began waving, Ed followed suit.</p><p>   “-but is it a doggy?”</p><p>   “He’s as messy as one.”</p><p>   “Then why didn’t you get a dog?”</p><p>   “Because he’s a lot more cuddly than a dog.”</p><p>   Rosie crinkles her nose in confusion as she exits the building, “what could be more cuddly than a...” Rosie clocks Michael leaning against the Bentley.</p><p>   “-Daddy?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. You Took Dad's Gun?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nora's beginning to crack as the children begin running circles around her.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   “<em>Ahh!</em> Get off me you witch!”</p><p>   “Give back my shoes then!”</p><p>   “What makes you think <em>I </em>nicked them?!”</p><p>   “I’ve seen your wellies, why wouldn’t you?!” </p><p>   “Stop pulling my hair! Jackie, help!”</p><p>   Nora groans hearing the muffled screeches of the two girls wrestling on the sitting-room rug, not wanting to get involved she scurries past into the hall. They’d already created enough chaos around the house, at least in was contained to one room. The last thing she needed was to start shouting herself. The woman gripped at the basket filled with damp clothes as she headed into the back-garden to hang them on the washing line, unfortunately she wasn’t alone.</p><p><em>   Jesus,</em> how did John deal with so many kids running wild? Oh, that’s right, he had Polly.</p><p>   “I’ll obliterate you Charlie!”</p><p>   “Rather <em>big</em> words for the poo-man, isn’t it?”</p><p>   She curses following a scrambled battle-cry from one boy, and as painful as it was, she had no intention of breaking it up; not like they would stop. <em>Shelby blood</em> and all that shite. Instead she began to peg up each item of clothing, blissfully humming away as their shouting faded into obscurity.</p><p>   Out of sight, out of mind.</p><p>   It’d been the same routine ever since Charlie and Ruby arrived: get up, fight, more fighting, dinner, bath and bed. Rinse and repeat. Three children on her own were a handful so adding two more to the mix was just a recipe for disaster, she couldn’t turn them away, they had nowhere else to go; who in their right-mind would want an evacuated Shelby child.</p><p>   Living out in the country meant they got lucky, she didn’t have to trade her children either but that didn’t mean the Gray family went unscathed. Nora had been without her husband since the war begun and the eldest, George soon followed in 1941, being of-age and whatnot.</p><p>   Thomas’ two were born and bred in the city, as was she, though adjustment for them proved to be futile. Nonetheless, his little ones were safer here. <em>Despite</em><em> the constant threats from her own children.</em></p><p>   Michael wasn’t keen on it either, but he had experience with agricultural life and make it work by commuting back and forth.</p><p>   Finally, the area goes quiet and she’s left to finish the chore in peace.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>   “Don’t move!</em>
</p><p>   “Aunt Nora!”</p><p>   “Mummy!”</p><p>   Dropping the now empty basket, multiple voices came from different directions before a chilling gunshot echoed through her home. The bloodcurdling screams caused Nora’s blood to run-cold.</p><p>   A million scenarios played over and over in her brain, each one getting increasing worse as she sprinted back into her home, through the kitchen and back to where the girls had been. <em>Did someone break into the house? Were the kids hurt? Or was it just something that fell?</em> God, she prayed something had fallen.</p><p><em>   “Wha… Where?… How?”</em> She stumbles up the steps nearly tripping over her floral skirt.</p><p>   Her eyes widen at the scene before her.</p><p>   Five children. One sliver pistol, Michael’s pistol.</p><p>   She was gonna be sick.</p><p>   It lay in the middle of the floor between the boys, both seemingly fighting back tears but perhaps it was just the pungent smell of burning, nipping at their eyes. There’s a smashed vase in the corner of the room.</p><p>   “Jack?”</p><p>   “Mum?”</p><p>   Nora’s heart was pounding, throat dry as a bone.</p><p>   “Y-You <em>took</em> Dad’s gun?”</p><p>   She knew he wouldn’t understand, hell none of them would but just looking at <em>it</em>, brought back so many unwanted and painful memories of when George and Rosie were little, after John died and Thomas forced Michael leave her, alone, with that damn pistol and two toddlers in Glasgow.</p><p>   “I…”</p><p>   “We have one-<em>fucking-</em>rule! Stay out, of Dad’s office.”</p><p>   “But-“</p><p>   “Don’t!”</p><p>   “Mum!” </p><p>   All the children watch as the brunette boy stands-off against his fiery mother. Jack’s lips purse, an excuse fighting to escape. He knew it was wrong, but Charlie crossed the line.</p><p>   Wiping her sweaty palms, she bends down taking the weapon from the rug carefully unloading it, yet when she looks up, she sees a small red string of burnt fabric, worryingly familiar. Perplexed, she hesitantly picks it up too then examines it.</p><p>   “Was this…?”</p><p>   “We tried to tell you.” Rosie croaks, sympathetically before growling back to her cousins. “It’s all <em>their</em> fault!”</p><p>   “You pushed me!”</p><p>   Her younger brother jumps in, “<em>And?</em> You shouldn’t have had them in the first place Charlie.”</p><p>   “Well it was me, or them.”</p><p>   “We’d’ve burned you to a crisp and fed Butters the leftovers!”</p><p>   The woman takes a final glance at the irritable children, their voices beginning to overpower one-another as they fight to be heard. A large lump in her throat forms as she sees her niece clad in a wedding gown, stained. Typical.</p><p>   “Those were letters from our dad <em>who’s fighting a war</em>, not like you’d know what that’s like.”</p><p>   Ruby opens her mouth to retaliate, but her aunt jumps in front, scolding the group.</p><p>   “<em>Enough!</em> Bath, bed. Now.” Nora’s voice boomed.</p><p>   The elder children shamefully pile out of the room, heads hung low all that’s left was little Violet making her way over, cuddling into her mother’s side, who begins running her fingers through the blonde strands.</p><p>   “Do you think Daddy will write again, and Georgie too?”</p><p>   “I hope so baby, or else we’re out of luck.”</p><p>   “-and jam.”</p><p>   She looks down, puzzled.</p><p>   “What?”</p><p>   “Ruby dropped the jam-jar, this morning.” Violet explains. “I tried to put it back in a pot but then Dee-Dee ate it all up.”</p><p><em>   “Christ.”</em> Nora sighs, lifting the seven-year-old into her lap then resting her chin on her daughter’s shoulder. “Well, she’s going to regret that isn’t she?”</p><p>   “Uh-uh, last time Georgie said it gave her the <em>shits!” </em>she blissfully giggles.</p><p>   “Vi!”</p><p>   “What mummy?”</p><p>   “Never mind, but <em>you, </em>upstairs. Tomorrow, we’re having a <em>family meeting</em>.”</p><p>   "Can I sleep in the big bed with you tonight? I don’t like it when they fight." </p><p>   "I'd love nothing more honey-bun."</p><hr/><p>   “Love, are you sure you don’t want me to pop-in?”</p><p>   “It’s alright Mum, the kids’ll only get distracted again.”</p><p>   “That bad?”</p><p>   She lets out a deep breath, “Everything special Michael left specifically for them is <em>gone</em>, burnt or smashed. Including the letters.”</p><p>   “Poor things, well, I’ve got a few here if it makes them feel any better.”</p><p>   “Thanks.” She smiles, though Polly couldn’t see her. “Even two-hundred miles away, Thomas Shelby is still finding ways to fuck with my family.” Nora runs a hand through her greasy hair. </p><p>   “Remind me why they didn’t go to Linda’s?”</p><p>   “Because they’d all come back the bloody <em>Virgin Mary.</em>”</p><p>   She nodded in agreement, crossing her legs on the wooden seat.</p><p>   “Anything from Finn?”</p><p>   “Three weeks ago. Mentioned our Michael’s moved up a couple ranks too, but him and Isaiah are in Belgium with John’s boys, little Peter thinks he’s developing trench-foot too.”</p><p>   The Scottish woman grimaced at the distasteful image. Her uncle suffered the painful aftermath of it once the first war was over, the man never walked again. </p><p>   “How’s Ada?”</p><p>   “Not good, but she’s hiding it well. Katie’s moved in with her.”</p><p>   “Can’t bare the thought, <em>touch-wood,</em> y’know.”</p><p>   “Speaking of, how’s George?”</p><p>   “No clue, not a single letter,” she bites her lip for a moment, “It’s hard not to consider the possibility of it and wishful thinking will only get you so far.”</p><p>   “Wonder if they’ve crossed paths?”</p><p>   “Doubt it, I just hope he’s got <em>someone</em> who’ll look out for him.”</p><p>   “Hmm, with Shelby’s? You can probably count on it.”</p><p>   Nora takes a sip of the cold tea, hearing Polly clear her throat.</p><p>   “Do, do you ever miss it?”</p><p>   “What?”</p><p>   “The <em>Blinder’s </em>stuff, the thrill and all those glamorous parties we went to.”</p><p>   She raises a brow, “I mean sometimes, but I also enjoy not having to worry about finding my husband dead on a stretcher with a sheet thrown over him because Tommy Shelby’s plan went wrong.”</p><p>   She hums, musing to herself.</p><p>   “We were on top of the world, weren’t we?”</p><p>   “Try telling Esme and Linda that.”</p><p>   There’s a crash in the opposite room and a voice shouts for her.</p><p>   "That’s my cue.”</p><hr/><p>   “Right you lot, we’re going to do this the old-fashioned way. The Shelby way.” Nora announced falling back into the leather chair in her husband’s office, feeling some strange urge to smoke, and down a whisky and in Michael’s honour, a line of snow wouldn’t hurt.</p><p>   “Why can’t we do it the <em>Gray</em> way?”</p><p>   “Unfortunately son, after twenty years of marriage, I’ve come to learn they’re the same thing.” She clasps her hands staring all five children down as they sit before her. “So listen up, you little buggers.”</p><p>   Rosie snorted, “You sound like Nana.”</p><p>   “Good, she’s a scary woman.”</p><p>   “But you aren’t.”</p><p>   “I can be.”</p><p>   “Mum, you wash the piglets in lavender-soap and put honey in your tea. There’s nothing threatening about you.”</p><p>   “You really are your father’s daughter aren’t you?” </p><p>   The seventeen-year-old teasingly stuck out her tongue. </p><p>   “Look, here’s what I propose if we’re going to get along. Everyday, I’ll set you little tasks, do them correctly and you will be rewarded. Do them incorrectly and you’re on dung-duty.”</p><p>   “What’s in it for us?”</p><p>   “Minimising cuts and bruises, your possessions staying undamaged and, if you’re really good, I’ll arrange a little outing to the theatre in the village. Does that sound reasonable?”</p><p>   There’s a number of grumbles before coming to a sensible agreement. Though, Violet is the first to speak again.</p><p>   “What about Daddy’s letters?”</p><p>   “I’m sorry baby, but we can’t do much about that. Nana says she has some but I’m afraid they’re gone.”</p><p>   She sees the blond pout, and smirks back.</p><p>   “Actually! For the next twenty-four hours all the big kids are on dung-duty, serves you right.”</p><p>   She watches as each child leaves the room, but Jack remains seated.</p><p>   “What about me?”</p><p>   “What about you Jackie?”</p><p>   “Shouldn’t I be punished for the, <em>y’know.</em>”</p><p>   “If it stays between <em>us</em>, no. This family has too many trigger-happy men and I don’t want another one.”</p><p>   “Have <em>you</em> ever used it mum?”</p><p>   “Yeah, on your uncle actually.”</p><p>   “What, <em>really?!</em>”</p><p>   “<em>Ah, ah</em>, lavender and honey, remember?” She winks at him before delving back into the plush leather.</p><p>   “See Tommy, you can have a family meeting that doesn’t end in tears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Back to Reality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Returning to normality in Glasgow</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I know hen, <em>I know</em>.” She lulls her squirming two-year-old, gently grazing the damp rag over delicate skin. Though she knew it was futile, she was a baby and bathing in such a big container is mysterious and perhaps scary experience. She releases a few more squeaks as the warm material rubs against her cheeks then being dropped back into the shallow water.</p><p>It wasn’t often Rosie got in the tub, nor George but Nora had very little patience on her day-off, plus it meant spending some peaceful time with her children, as usually, they were either sleeping or screaming.</p><p>“Look Roey, I got a ducky!”</p><p>The brunette baby begins to flail her arms towards the bright-yellow toy, trying to reach it.</p><p>Enjoying the moment, Nora hesitantly leans back, attempting to ease the sudden coldness from the tin making sure Rosie was trapped between her legs in case of any accidents, she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of balance yet. The woman releases a sigh, <em>finally,</em> she could rest and enjoy the rather adorable scene below her. Her sweet, docile children. <em>If only. </em>Every Sunday evening, she’d bathe Rosie in the basin as George was fed, put her into the cot then continue with George, doing the same. This was just killing two birds with one stone.</p><p>The water wasn’t too high, so she couldn’t quite indulge, it only reached her bellybutton, but it was enough to wash and that’s what mattered. Nora closes her eyes letting her head hang over the metallic rim letting herself drift.</p><p><em>I wonder what</em> <em>he’s doing right now.</em></p><p>A devilish taunt crawls its way to her brain, but she manages to suppress it. The thought of her husband wrapped around another woman was not going to spoil her blissful mood.</p><p>“Du-du.”</p><p>Nora smirks hearing Rosie gnawing at the toy. She knew what she meant but wished it wasn’t so. <em>Du-du</em> was probably the closest they’d ever get to <em>Da-da</em> until the pair start wondering if they’ve bloody got one. Rosie wasn’t likely to remember him, so that wasn’t going to be much of a problem; can’t miss something you never really had. George though, Nora dreaded it, dreaded finding out what he did recall. The two of them had been to hell and back with their father and his family’s destructive lifestyle.</p><p>Her baby boy, her innocent, precious child had been through their imprisonment, losing John, losing Esme then above all losing Michael.</p><p>She prayed George still had <em>some</em> happy memories of him and not the shouting, crying or Changretta’s gunshots.</p><p>Christmas morning changed everything. The Michael Gray she loved was gone. Forgotten were the days of rolling around in ruffled bedsheets hoping for a lie-in or downing a bottle of whisky then collapsing in his lap. She even missed sharing a tube of snow and getting up to all-sorts before Polly could find them, probably in a dark corner of the Garrison. They’d blame poor Finn the next morning for grassing but turns out it was just John and Arthur sick of listening to their shite.</p><p>Nora leans to the side, grabbing the half pack of cigarettes, setting one alight. This time remaining over the rim in fear of any ash scarring her daughter who was now hitting the wooden item against the water, splashing everyone.</p><p>She can feel the fag hitting her <em>hard, </em>the lightheaded rush she’d missed, as if it washed away her troubles. Running a hand through her greasy hair taking another drag she hears a small scream from Rosie. Without even looking, Nora knew what had happened.</p><p>“George, gee it back.” She warns though, it wasn’t as intimidating as she’d hopped due to the stick still hanging from her lips, interfering with her speech.</p><p>“But its mine ma.”</p><p>Nora raises an eyebrow at the four-year-old whilst caressing the girl’s cheek, calming her.</p><p>“Okay, but I want it later.”</p><p>“You’ll be in,” she stops, emptying her mouth and stubbing it out on the tray, “you’ll be in <em>bed</em>, mister.”</p><p>“Ma!” he whines.</p><p>“Gee it.”</p><p>There’s a small pout as the blond drops it in the water, eyeing it float back but Nora knew better than to press his bad attitude. He didn’t mean it; it was just kids being kids and wanting something they couldn’t have. She did the same with her siblings when they were young – though it was a much tighter squeeze.</p><p>She chuckled at the memory of sharing with the twins, or as her father would call them; double trouble. They were older than her, <em>didn’t fucking act like it though</em> but they were close enough that everything was a battle, everything had to be won either by arguing or fighting.</p><p>It was different now; she’d been looked after her since she returned from Small Heath; setting her up in the small flat and ensuring a decent job too.</p><p>Nora felt like she was given another chance, to re-invent herself. To do <em>good things</em> for people like her, for people that deserve it. She wanted to set a good example; something which would’ve been impossible in her old life.</p><p>__________</p><p>“<em>Thomas this, Thomas that,”</em> she ranted, “Can I have five fucking minutes withoot you worshipin’ the groun he walks oan?”</p><p>The man closes the door, shrugging off his oversized coat as the younger girl flails past the kitchenette, her blunt heels bashing against the dirty floorboards. She’d been like this the whole walk home after his <em>informative </em>meeting with the new MP from down south looking to silence their gang violence for public reputation, but he seemed more concerned with taking sides, <em>their</em> side and that was all Alec needed to know.</p><p>He was a gypsy bloke himself, even travelled with his mother and two sisters until his father couldn’t take the lifestyle of manure ridden fields surrounded by a language he didn’t care to learn so, the two found solace in the mutual heritage. Shelby was raised Catholic, which meant he could already be considered family in some Glaswegian slums, despite being <em>English. </em>Why his Nora had such an issue with Thomas Shelby was beyond him.</p><p>“Seriously, ye didnae even meet.”</p><p>“Didnae need tae.” She muttered, though he could hear some underlying truth resting on her lips, Alec wanted to pick at. If he was going into business with Thomas, it would be utterly transparent.</p><p>Slouching on the rocking chair, Nora digs into her pocket pulling out her lighter along with a bashed packet of cigarettes.</p><p>The twenty-nine-year-old surveys the flat, noting it to be far too quiet than usual. Missing where the sounds of giggles and squeals of three rambunctious toddlers running rampant.</p><p>“Where’s the weans?”</p><p>She peers up at him, setting the snout alit.</p><p>“Boys are wae Jane up the Botanics,” she pauses taking a drag, “But Mrs Wilson has Rosie doonstairs; caught another cold.”</p><p>The pair remain in a content silence, neither having the correct words to discuss what they so desperately wanted to. They’d had very different experiences dealing with this morning’s tribulations. Nora sat in a local café, whilst her Alec spoke with Shelby. Every so-often having to bite her tongue, fighting the urge to storm across the road, pouncing on the man clad in his typical black and white pinstripes.</p><p>She releases the puff of smoke, allowing the smell to nestle into the furniture, now feeling the light nicotine-buzz from the stick Nora smiles, noticing a small glint from the sliver band she wore.</p><p>“He’s a’right once you get to know him.”</p><p>“Oh aye, and whit exactly dae you know aboot Thomas Shelby?” The ginger woman chuckles.</p><p>“Whit dae <em>you know?</em>”</p><p>“I know enough.” She looks at him tottering around, noticing the lack of interest in her disapproval. “I need you tae promise me something.’”</p><p>Alec rolled his eyes before bending down to the smaller cabinet, pushing back the stained curtain and pulling out a half-empty bottle of <em>Glenrosa </em>then pouring himself a glass; it was a vile whisky from Arran and though Nora had never been partial to it, quite a handful of the in-laws had been.</p><p>“Depends whit it-“</p><p>“Al.”</p><p>“Aye, a’right. Go on.”</p><p>“<em>Stay away</em> from Tommy Shelby.”</p><p>The twenty-nine-year-old snorts at his little sister, his delicate, fragile sister who probably didn’t know the first thing about this middle-aged bookkeeper from Birmingham.</p><p>“Right you are.”</p><p>“I’m no kiddin. He’s trouble.”</p><p>“So, whit? Hiv ye heard stories <em>aboot </em>him?” Alec mocked. “Ye go doon south for five-years and now ye think yer an expert oan every blummin’ hing.”</p><p>“Alec don’t push me oan this, you go anywhere near him and I’ll tell Jane tae dae a runner.”</p><p>“Aye, so ye will.” He ponders for a moment, “ye’ve no ever met him, mebbe we’ll get him oan <em>our </em>side.”</p><p>“Shelby’s don’t <em>do </em>sides.”</p><p>“Whit’s that supposed tae mean?” He snapped, narrowing his eyes.</p><p>She opened her mouth to explain but her throat ran dry.</p><p>“Look, I know he’s got blood on his hands.” He purses his lips, ready to continue, “but he’s the best candidate to deal wae that walloper McCavern.”</p><p>The brunette watches her take a deep breath, tapping some stray ash from the fag. It wasn’t difficult to see her irate mood, still, He couldn’t help but feel out of the loop, she was a midwife, and as far as Alec was concerned their occupational fields had no overlap. Though, he didn’t know <em>much</em> about her previous life in Birmingham from what she’d written in the letters, her job was going well, gotten hitched then up the duff. How on earth would she have experienced Thomas Shelby in such a small amount of time?</p><p>“Tommy Shelby doesn’t know a fucking thing about Glasgow, thinks we’re the illiterate scum of the earth.“ </p><p>“How’d <em>you</em> know that?”</p><p>Nora stares blankly at him for a moment, almost regretting what she’d said. <em>It was better coming from her than Thomas</em>.</p><p>“Did’ye deliver his wean wrang?”</p><p>She growls. “Naw.”</p><p>He downs the liquid. “Dae ye want tae get tae the blummin’ point then? ‘Cause as far as I’m concerned the bloke seems fine tae me.”</p><p>
  <em>“Mrs Gray, I’ve got Rosie here! Still a bit peely-wally.”</em>
</p><hr/><p><em>­­­</em>The next few days had been rather mundane, going back and forth with the kids to her brother’s. Jane and herself taking turns looking after them as they work alternating shifts.</p><p>“Yer wean’s acting up <em>again</em>, pullin’ at ma George’s hair.” Nora says, strolling into the dimly lit office, if you could call it that.</p><p>The man doesn’t bother to look away, too engrossed in his paper as its laid flat on the dark, wooden desk allowing him to nurse on what seemed to be an auld man’s milk; a vile mix of ingredients that would be seemingly more appetising on plate rather than leaving its rum-fused stench clinging to everything in the house.</p><p>“Whit’d want <em>me</em> tae dae? You’re the wummin in’t ye?”</p><p><em>Christ.</em> Rolling her tongue, she holds back the urge to smack her brother over the head.</p><p>Alec was a difficult man, but still, he’d been a saving-grace in the past couple of years so it could be hard to find fault knowing what their alternative would’ve been. Nora had a home, whilst cramped there was a sense of community and unlike the rather luxurious life she used to live; she was at peace being <em>one of them. </em>Waking up to the sounds of a deflated ball hitting against the bricks followed by muffled cheers from the younger boys up the landing or the seven o’clock buzz when there’d be a chain of <em>‘gardyloo’ </em>warningsand the kids then running to the window, watching the human defecation splash on the concrete.</p><p><em>This</em> is home, this was how <em>she</em> grew-up and she couldn’t be happier.</p><p>“Look,” Nora pressed crossing her arms, “I’ve been doon tae the shops, got the messages all whilst yer missus has be up the Royal. The least you could dae is tell me how tae sort <em>him</em> oot.”</p><p>“Dae, whit ma did.”</p><p>She takes a sharp inhale at the mention of her mother but noticing Alec’s continual disinterest was getting increasingly agitating. “I’m no <em>skelping</em> him.”</p><p>“Jane does that.”</p><p>“Dae I look like<em> Jane</em> tae you?” she pauses, “I’m his auntie, no his mammy.”</p><p>“Ye <em>ur</em> a mammy.”</p><p>“Aye, no <em>his</em>.” She deadpanned.</p><p>Sighing, her brother pinched his nose, thinking of a way to content both his son and sister. “Jist shove a bit of sugar on a piece<em>. If</em> he hits the fuckin roof, I’m blamin you.”</p><p>The brunette smirks, “See, that wisnae so hard, wis it?”</p><hr/><p>“Right you,” Alec announces entering the back room, carefully slipping into the peaceful atmosphere, “Thomas Shelby, we’ve got another meeting next week. Yer comin’.”</p><p>She scoffs, desperately wanting to roll over to face her two toddlers peacefully resting, unfortunately were yet another reminder of the infamous gangster and his family. “No.”</p><p>“Clear the air or some shite, I want ye tae meet him.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure he’d love that.” She holds back a laugh.</p><p>Her brother sits on the bedside stool, crossing his arms.</p><p>“I’m uniting with Shelby whether you like it or not, so if there sumthin’ you want tae get aff yer chest, dae it now.”</p><p>Glancing at her brother’s solemn expression, she decides this might be her now or never opportunity.</p><p>“Michael didnae dae a runner with another wummin,” Nora sighs, “Tom’s his cousin and <em>he</em> telt him to leave us behind, go tae America alone an never look back.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“I got scared, stuck it oot fur four months stayin’ wae ma mother in-law when I thought he’d mebbe turn around. Then…”</p><p>“He didn’t.”</p><p>She nods.</p><p>“Why didnae ye jist tell us?”</p><p>“Because, it meant ma wis right. That, I wis back in the same place she wis.” She chokes trying to hold back some tears, “stuck wae greetin-faced weans and the man’s ran aff ‘cause he <em>canny handle it.”</em></p><p>She grumbles the next part, “’cept da came back fur us.”</p><p>“English bastards.”</p><p>“Now ye <em>sound </em>like her.” She wants to laugh; she really does but it’s the first time she’s been able to speak about what happened since leaving Birmingham. “Didnae even let the weans say goodbye.”</p><p>Alec begins fiddling with his fingers, realising what mess he might have created for his little sister.</p><p>“Al, I canny promise it’ll be smooth sailing when we come face tae face.”</p><p>He shuffles in his seat. “You don’t have tae.”</p><p>“I want tae,” she smiles weakly, “’cause ma wee-yins need their da back. I’m no lettin’ them go through whit we did.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'll be honest, I consider most of this canon except how Nora reunites with the Shelby's, as the first person she actually meets is Gina.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Nova Scotia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“They’ll never forgive us, will they?”</p><p>   Nora lightly snorted, her face falling into the crook of Michael’s neck as she carelessly dropped the swaying the bottle of red wine in her hand over the rug, the liquid being too heavy for the intoxicated state then spilled across the rug, Both too exhausted to care as he indulged in his first cigarette of the day – his ex-mother-in-law had beaten the habit and banned it in her presence.</p><p>   “Would you?”</p><p>   “Forgave mum, didn’t I?”</p><p>   She shook her head. “That’s no the same ‘hing.”</p><p>   Michael pursed his lips, enjoying the comfort, warmth and sheer ecstasy of the redhead being back in his arms for the first time in years. It was like being simply a teenager again, back on his eighteenth birthday giggling to one-another as they stumbled over the cobbles throughout Small Health. Both himself and Nora had suffered some injuries that night, on the vacant street and once they’d finally clobbered inside. Nora still wore the ageing burn from the butt of his cigarette, just above where her wedding ring used to rest.</p><p>   Sadly, their first drunken encounter seemed to be his only memory of true bliss between them, no toddlers parading around the house in the starkers whilst clients visited them leaving blistering hear-rates, no financial burdens and not a single meddling Shelby in slight, sticking their arse in it for him. Not until Esme began inviting Nora round for dinner but he should probably have thanked her for that one.</p><p>   Though, he was struggling to see her point, in how his own children experienced anything vastly different to he himself when he was their age – particularly Rosie. There was little evidence to debate that his trials and tribulations with abandonment was anything any less scarring. The only aspect he could consider, is that George and Rosie where – and still are – <em>children. </em>Rosie’s five and George isn’t far off seven but still, their innocence remains, they’ve gotten both their parents back and are sound asleep in a loving environment.</p><p>   “Rosie’s started talking in ‘er sleep; greetin an shite tae.” She sighs, “telt me nuthin’. Bit George’s got a big gob so, ah’ll squeeze sumthin’ oot eventually.” </p><p>   Michael tosses a loose strand of hair out of Nora’s face as she shifts in his arms, scrounging for some heat. Despite the similarities in both name and distant culture, Nova Scotia really gave Glasgow a run for it’s money in this dire temperature. In a discontent response, Nora starts muttering in incomprehensible Scots, something about how cold it was – obviously – though, usually he could keep up with her. Which came in handy in the recent uprising of the Billy Boys, or as Nora knows them: her neighbours.</p><p>   Nora idyllically closed her eyes, resting her head back on Michael’s chest feeling his breathing as she moves with each inhale and exhale from every drag, though begins tirelessly murmuring to herself. <em>“Ma poor wee lassie.”</em></p><p>“What have we done?”</p><p>   “Ruined my ma’s perfectly good carpet? Nearly burnt doon the hoose? Chucked aw the snow by accident-“</p><p>   He rolls his eyes, “-I, meant <em>us,</em> Nora.”</p><p>   “We,” she pauses, letting the multitude of answers float around her conscious before grabbing one. “We, destroyed the lives of our weans… and each-other.” Nora glances off to the table, opposite his gaze she could feel crawling at her own internal guilt. “I shouldnae have stayed. I thought taking them hame meant a fresh start, new school tae gee them a proper chance tae grow, at their own pace. A year, before the church got tae them.”</p><p>   Nora swallows before continuing, “Efter it was all over – y’know with Changretta – I saw an opening, so ah took it. Got on the first train back to Glasgow and never tunred back. Two weeks later, ma brother found a letter thit had been delivered tae ma da’s pub from <em>John Shelby</em>.”</p><p>   “What was it?”</p><p>   “<em>Rings.</em> Esme sent me his rings, she’d heard through bletherin’ thit ah’d left you lot and she knew ah probably didnae have a lot of cash.” She stares up at him for a moment, smiling sofly. “Didnae have the heart tae sell mine, too feart ah widnae get it back.”</p><p>   “You did the right thing. Tommy played everyone.”</p><p>   “We never exactly fought for it. It was for them; it was always them.”</p><p>   “Maybe we just weren’t ready? For <em>us</em>.”</p><p>   “Are we ever going to be <em>ready?</em>”</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Homesick</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nora needs her big sister, now more than ever.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   “Hello, you’ve reached the Byrne household, William speaking."</p><p>   Nora pursed her lips, twisting the thick, rubber telephone wire between her fingers as she felt her throat begin to clench up once again. A tight burning sensation that she’d become all too familiar with in the past few hours.</p><p>   That sliver fucking band around her finger; the sight of it made her nauseous.</p><p>   “Hello?”</p><p>   The voice was less gravelly – clearly more awake – this time, and a clear accent was discovered; the man was Irish, not Scottish. Nor female. The teenager was positive she’d rang the number her aunt had given her correctly.</p><p>   “H-hello,” her voice was wavering, attempting to clutch at whatever words her scattered brain would allow her to find, “is Edie there? P-please, I really need to speak to her.”</p><p>   She could hear a disgruntled sigh after a slight pause on the other side. Nora knew it was wrong and rather rude to be ringing anyone this late at night, regardless of relationship.</p><p>   “Unfortunately, Edith’s already gone to bed. Any chance you could phone back in the morning? She’s quite the early-riser.”</p><p>   “…please.”</p><p>   He grumbles. <em>I’m so sorry.</em></p><p>   “-and may I ask who’s calling at this ungodly hour?” The annoyance in his voice once returned, now knowing he was probably going to have to wake up his wife and likely wouldn’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon due to Edith’s habit of leaving the lamps on.</p><p>   “Her wee sister, Honora.”</p><p>   “Edith’s never mentioned a sister I’m afraid, are you sure you’ve got the correct number?”</p><p>   “I-I don’t know,” she croaked, “ma auntie, she said ma sister moved back doon tae parkheid a few months ago…” Nora began to trail off realising she’d clearly been wrong, this man obviously wasn’t from Glasgow “…Ah’ve never used the phone, sorry aboot this.”</p><p>   “No, no. What’s the address?”</p><p>   Turning back to the table, the nineteen-year-old snatches at the crinkled note and reads aloud between some quite sniffles, “584 Rigby Street, th<em>e tap-dancer</em>.”</p><p>   “That’s correct, but Edith still hasn’t mentioned a little sister, so I don’t know where you’ve retrieved this private information.”</p><p>   “<em>Please. </em>I’m Edie and Alec’s baby sister Nora,” she cried, hoping she was loud enough for her sibling to hear through the telephone but quite enough that she wouldn’t wake the neighbours. “Ah hiv’nae been hame fur aboot two years. Moved doon south an ah‘ve made pure mess ae it.” Nora clenches at the now dirtied white skirt of her dress, now pleading with the man at the other end of the call. “Ah jist need ma big sister. Ma da’s no even got a phone in his hoose ‘cause ae the wan in the pub, an Alec wid murder me if ah telt him whit ah’ve done.”</p><p>
  <em>   “Christ, who’s that oan the bloody phone?!”</em>
</p><p>   “Your sister, apparently.”</p><p>
  <em>   “Wee Nora? Gee’s it.” </em>
</p><p>   Hearing some shuffling on the other end, Nora releases a breath of relief. Hearing her sibling quietly bicker with the man, who she presumes is her partner. She could see it now, Edith clobbering over the bed looking like she’d just came from the grave ready to snatch the receiver from the Irishman.</p><p>   “Jesus Mary an Joseph! Hen, whit ye daein’ ringin’ Glesga it this time in the mornin’?”</p>
<hr/><p>   “Where’s Nora?”</p><p>   Esme gripped her husband’s hand a little tighter as she continuously scanned the room for the missing bride. It wasn’t like her to disappear nor wander, particularly when being watched like a hawk by her mother-in-law and Linda. Esme knew Nora wasn’t happy, she’d made it clear throughout the day.</p><p>   “Maybe the happy couple have ran off for a fuck?”</p><p>   “She’s six months up the duff John,” Esme scoffed, “poor thing’s learnt her lesson. Plus, look,” she nods her head over to the two younger boys lounging up the back of the Garrison, one of them being Michael.</p><p>   “Think he’s noticed?”</p><p>   “The kid’s out his face on snow and she’s been avoiding him ever since we left the chapel. Quite frankly, I don’t think he cares anymore,” she huffs. “It’s not that hard to keep track of a pregnant ginger in a white gown, especially one that’s been throwing tantrums all bloody afternoon.”</p><p>   “Maybe she’s disappeared into the night, never to return.” He teased.</p><p>   Esme internally winced, still knowing John didn’t mean anything by it, “Nora wouldn’t do that to the baby, not even if <em>I</em> asked her too. She’s probably gone home.”</p><p>   “Should we tell Polly?”</p><p>   “No. She doesn’t need to be scolded like a child.”</p><p>   “Should, we… go?”</p><p>   “They’ll notice if we’re gone, considering we’ve made a nasty habit of it.”</p><p>
  <em>   “Nasty?”</em>
</p><p>   “John.” She warns, “not the fucking point.”                                   </p><p>   “Michael’s going.” She promptly proclaims, before continuing. “Get Isaiah to bugger off and I’ll speak to your cousin, clip his bloody ear if I have to but, the kid’s got a wife now.”</p>
<hr/><p>   “Da’s gonnae kill ye,” Edith snorted, “Ah wis hopin’ he’d be able to walk you doon the aisle.”</p><p>   “How?”</p><p>   “Never did it wae me, we eloped. Telt nae soul.”</p><p>   “Aye, so ah wis the scapegoat then?”</p><p>   “Yer no far aff.”</p><p>   “He wis a friend of Mammy’s, they met after she left us.” Nora smiles, thinking back to Johnny Dogs this morning, “said ah hid her eyes, an cheek.”</p><p>    “Sound aboot right,” her sister agrees. “Ah didnae know who Da ‘hinks he’s kidding, ‘es no walkin’ naebody doon an aisle wae that gammie leg.”</p><p>   The pair return to a calming rest after a small giggle.</p><p>   Nora had explained just about everything, expect the root of the predicament. It’s not that she didn’t want to tell her sister, but she knew how Edie could be. <em>Traditional.</em> She wanted structure, the acceptance of others and most of all, she couldn’t bare the thought of experiencing family life as her mother did.</p><p>   So, Nora lied. Told her sister everything about Michael she knew Edie wanted to hear: the heart-warming tale of blossoming love; how his family welcomed her with open arms and how much she was enjoying life working as a midwife. Deep down Nora desperately wanted to believe it too.</p><p>   She <em>hated</em> him.</p><p>   She’d never said that before.</p><p>   “Look, hen, it’s been great catchin’-up bit, ah’ve still got work the ‘morra.”</p><p>
  <em>   Tell her, Nora.</em>
</p><p>   The ginger takes a breath before blurting out the rest.</p><p>   “You’re <em>whi</em>t?”</p><p>   “Ah’ve got a bairn on the way?” Nora nervously grins, though her sister cannot see her.</p><p>   There was a moment of silence, a click, then the familiar light humming in her ear soon returned</p><p>
  <em>   The line went dead.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>   “Jist, fuck off Poll! Gee me five fucking minutes of peace.”</p><p>   Nora sobs, hearing the few knocks on the door. Truth be told, she didn’t know if it was her mother-in-law, but it wouldn’t a surprise.</p><p>   “Nonie, just let me in,” he says, “I know you took my keys.”</p><p>   <em>Oh, it was Michael.</em></p><p>   Wiping away some tears and her runny nose, she opens the door and watches as he slips past her. Planting himself were she sat on their suite moments ago.</p><p>   “You okay?”</p><p>   “Ah’m fine.”</p><p>   “You don’t look even remotely fine Nora.”</p><p>   He watches as she trudges over to him, sitting at the opposite end of the maroon coloured couch.</p><p>   “Went an rung hame didn’t ah? Cannae believe ah thought it’d make me feel better” she sniffles. “So fuckin’ stupit.”</p><p>   “Homesick?”</p><p>   “Naw, no anymare. Edie can fuck right off for all ah care,” She whines. “An ah know, that first ‘hing she’s gonnae dae is ring ma faither, ma brother an that’ll be it. Ah’ll no hiv a home tae be sick ower, ‘cause ah’ll no be fuckin’ welcome.”</p><p>   “You told them, didn’t you?”</p><p>   “Aye.”</p><p>   "They'll calm down eventually."</p><p>   The redhead scoffed,<em> "you don't know my family."</em></p><p>   </p>
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